MY  LADY  OF  DREAM 


LLOYD    MIFFLIN 


MY 
LADY    OF    DREAM 


BY 


LLOYD    MIFFLIN 


Faith  in  the  whispers  of  the  lonely  Muse, 
While  the  whole  world  seems  adverse  to  desert. 


—WORDSWORTH 


HENRY  FROWDE 

LONDON: 
AMERICAN   BRANCH 

New  York,  91-93  Fifth  Avenue 
1906 


COPYRIGHT,  1906, 
BY  LLOYD   MIFFL1N 


All  rights  reserved 


Plates  by  Rose  Vall«y  Press 
Prestwork  by  WicJ.-ershnm  Co.,  Lancaster,  Pa.,  U.  S.  A. 


PREFATORY 

In  these  poems,  called  "My  Lady  Of 
Dream  ",  /  have  sought  to  apostrophize  in 
an  elusive  way  that  Spirit  which  has  ever 
been  very  dear  to  me  and  at  whose  feet  I 
have  offered  many  years  of  my  life. 

L.  M. 

NORWOOD, 

NUT.' ember  1 5,  /QO4- 


345098 


THE  LIBATION 

All  honor  to  the  Maid  divine! 
Deep  homage  doth  to  her  belong 
Who  points  the  pathway  to  my  goal ; 
For  her  I  spill  no  mortal  wine, 
But  from  the  chalice  of  my  soul 
I  pour  the  cenomel  of  Song! 


CONTENTS 

The  Reader  is  Importuned l 

The  Lover  describes  his  Beloved 3 

"O  Lovely  thy  Feet" 5 

He  Begs  for  her  Favor 7 

The  Lover  Protests .  9 

The  Sweetness  of  his  Beloved 10 

The  Lips  of  his  Beloved 12 

He  Invokes  her  Presence 13 

His  Source  of  Light 14 

"Soul  of  the  Dusk" 15 

"Thy  Voice  in  the  Valley" 17 

Alone  in  December  Paths 19 

He  Follows  her  Light 21 

"Crush  thy  Handful  of  Roses" 22 

"Canst  thou  for  this  Atone" 23 

"O  Leave  thy  flaming  Harp  Inviolate"       ...  25 


His  Lady  eludes  his  Pursuit 27 

"Speak  softly,  Beloved" 29 

He  Returns  after  Absence 30 

The  Tryst  with  his  Love 31 

"What  shall  Atone" 32 

"Sadly  she  sits  upon  her  dazzling  Throne"    .     .  34 

"Come  let  us  lie  on  the  Hills" 36 

He  tells  when  her  Spirit  is  Fairest 38 

"Lo,  thou  sittest  Enthroned" 39 

"Angel  of  Peace!" 41 

"The  million  Lilies  of  Gold" 43 

A  last  Word  to  the  Lady  of  his  Love  ....  45 

At  thy  dear  Feet 46 

"And  when  at  last  the  Portals  loom"     ....  48 

Her  Lover  defies  the  Raven-black  Steeds    ...  50 

"Beseech  me  no  more" 52 

"Imperial  Inventress" 54 

"I  feel  thy  Spirit  call  me" 56 

"Come  nearer,  my  Beloved" 57 


THE  READER  IS  IMPORTUNED 

Warily  tread  o'er  the  delicate  bridge 

of  dreams 
Builded  in  silence  from  tremulous  cobweb 

and  mist, 
Warily  over  the  chasm  of  cloud  and  of 

streams 

High  on  the  vapory  arches  of  amethyst ; 
Shake  off  the  dust  of  the  world  and  the 

care  that  clings; 
Gird  on  the  sandals  that  give  to  the  feet 

their  wings ; 

Airily,  pray  you,  airily  spirit  along; 
1 


Thin  is  the  fabric  and  wove  of  the  veriest 

film  of  song, — 
Wavers,  and  sways,  and  is  not  what 

it  seems, — 
Warily,  warily  over  the  Bridge  of  Dreams. 


THE  LOVER  DESCRIBES  HIS 
BELOVED 

A  rose  she  is,  most  passing  fair, 

That  makes  more  sweet  the  summer  air 

For  one  day  only ; 
A  solitary  cloud  at  noon, 
That  melting  in  the  dome  of  June, 

Leaves  the  blue  lonely: 

A  bird  at  dawn  that  upward  flies 
And  falls  from  out  the  scarlet  skies 

Of  Eldorado ; 

A  murmuring  shell  upon  the  shore 
3 


Swirled  sudden  down  beneath  the  roar 
To  realms  of  shadow: 

A  sumptuous  moth,  in  autumn  hours, 
A-flutter  o'er  ephemeral  flowers 

In  vain  endeavor ; 
A  firefly  in  the  fields  of  even, 
That  lights  a  little  space  of  heaven, 

Then  fades  for  ever. 


"O  LOVELY  THY  FEET" 

O  lovely  thy  feet  shod  with  sandals 
resounding ; 

0  silver  the  echo  o'er  mountain  and 

valley 
Far  over  the  hills  of  the  morningl 

1  follow  the  print  that  thy  sandals 

are  making ; 
I  follow  the  sound  of  thy  footsteps 

arising 
Far  over  the  hills  of  the  morning. 

O  help  me  to  mount  from  the  earth  to 
the  ether; 


Like  thee,  let  me  rise  to  the  regions 

celestial 
Away  on  the  wings  of  the  morning ! 


HE  BEGS  FOR  HER  FAVOR 

Lo,  I  stoop  and  embrace  thy  sweet  knees, 
And  my  face  which  is  white  with  desire 

low  is  laid  in  thy  lap. 
Take  thy  hands,  O  Beloved,  lay  them  faint 

on  my  neck, 
And  thy  lips,  bend  them  down  and  breathe 

tremulous  words,  giving  comfort  and  love ; 
Soothe  thy  lover  with  hope  of  thyself; 
With  the  rose  of  thy  beauty  decoy  him  to 

thee; 
With  thy  spirit  encurtain  us  round  as  the 

gloaming  envelopes  the  vale. 
7 


I  am  sick  of  deceit;   of  the  hardness  of 
hearts ;  of  the  absence  of  love. 

Lo,  I  bury  my  face  in  the  lily — thy  lap ; 

Leave  me  not ;   take  thy  hands,  O  Beloved, 
lay  them  faint  on  my  neck,  soothe 
and  solace  with  tremulous  words. 


THE  LOVER  PROTESTS 

At  eve  about  the  wooded  hills  I  roam ; 

Devious  the  ways  I  tread,  and  far  from  home 
I  care  not,  Sweet,  how  wide  the  winding  be — 

Love  curves  the  path  and  circles  back  to  thee, 


THE  SWEETNESS  OF  HIS 
BELOVED 

Dull  life  were  then  indeed  worth  while, 
Bathed  in  the  languor  of  her  smile. 

Enough  it  were  to  soothe  despair — 
To  touch,  in  dreams,  her  twilight  hair. 

'Twere  worth  the  wisdom  of  the  wise 
To  live  upon  her  dream-dim  eyes. 

Famished,  to  muse  upon  her  mouth 
Were  gushing  wells  in  lands  of  drouth. 

10 


To  hope  to  touch  her  virgin  lips 
Whirls  the  calm  brain  in  wild  eclipse ; 

But  on  her  heart  to  draw  one's  breath — 
Such  bliss  would  poniard  one  to  death ! 


11 


THE  LIPS  OF  HIS  BELOVED 

Fragrance  and  balm  of  ethereal  isles ; 

Perfume  exhaled  from  the  gates  of  the  day; 

Languorous  zephyrs  all  heavy  with  song 
As  winds  that  have  lingered  in  lyres  of  love ; 

Raptures  as  keen  as  the  skylark's  aloft 
When  fading  to  poesy  far  in  the  cloud ; 

Passion  and  pathos  and  mystery  deep ; 
Solace,  and  spur  to  the  spirit  of  light: 

For  these,  lo,  I  spill  all  my  soul 
On  the  sweetness  that  lies  in  the  rose  of 
her  mouth. 


12 


HE  INVOKES  HER  PRESENCE 

Out  of  the  glory  Aurora  will  lend  her; 

Up  from  the  diamond  dew  of  the  lea ; 
Down  from  the  sunset  of  sumptuous  splendor, 

Delicate  Spirit,  hither  to  me! 

Out  of  the  caverns  of  lightning  and  thunder ; 

Up  from  the  glimmering  green  of  the  sea; 
Down  from  the  stars  with  their  fathomless  wonder, 

Delicate  Spirit,  hither  to  me ! 

Up  from  the  dark  of  Death's  Lethean  portal ; 

Out  of  the  regions  where  Life  and  Love  be ; 
Down  from  the  flaming-winged  Seraphs  immortal, 

Delicate  Spirit,  hither  to  me ! 

13 


HIS  SOURCE  OF  LIGHT 

I'm  like  the  gray  cloud  just  above 

The  dawn  ere  day  's  begun, 
And  thou  my  source  of  light,  my  Love, 

Thou  art  my  morning  sun. 
Pale  am  I  till  I  feel  thy  beam, 

Till  life  thy  light  bestows, 
And  then  a  golden  cloud  I  seem 

Bathed  in  celestial  rose. 


14 


"SOUL  OF  THE  DUSK" 

Delicate  Sprite !   Thou  fair  elusive  maid, 

Poised  in  thy  grace  above  the  hill-top  low; 
Soul  of  the  dusk  above  the  valley  shade, 

Seen  in  the  after-glow, 
Sink  softly  down  within  the  woods  afar, 

Lily  the  upland  with  thy  presence  sweet, 
Nestle  amid  the  fern,  e'en  as  a  star, 

To  guide  me  to  thy  feet. 

To  thy  pure  self,  as  to  some  holy  shrine, 

I,  who  in  Love's  dear  ways  was  sorely  crossed, 

Come  with  cooled  lips  to  touch  thy  brow  divine, 
No  longer  passion-tossed. 

15 


O  Spirit  of  that  thin  and  finer  air 

That  lights  the  summits  which  to  thee  belong, 
Raise  me  to  regions  infinitely  fair 

That  tremble  into  song. 

Leave  me  not  yet  within  the  lonely  woods ; 

Linger,  a  radiance  o'er  the  laureled  gloom ; 
O  lift  me  to  supernal  altitudes 

Of  amaranthine  bloom ! 

Slowly  she  fadeth  from  my  yearning  sight, 
Yet  in  my  soul  her  presence  do  I  greet: 

Adieu,  dark  vale,  I  camp  upon  the  height — 
I,  who  would  kiss  her  feet. 


16 


<THY  VOICE  IN  THE  VALLEY" 

Thy  voice  in  the  valley  at  evening  is  sweetness 

unheard  of. 
I  hear  not  the  coo  of  the  dove  when  thou 

speakest ; 

E'en  the  lay  of  the  mavis  is  discord ; 
All  the  throats  of  the  woodland  are  silenced ; 
Thou  drawest  thy  honey  from  fabulous  flowers 

of  feeling. 
Thy  limbs  are  as  smooth  as  the  limbs  of  the 

white  birch  in  winter; 
The  lace  of  thy  garments  is  fine  as  the  bloom 

of  wild  parsnip,  or  dew-spangled  cobweb 

in  meadows  of  morn ; 

17 


Thy  breasts  are  as  fair  as  the  blossoms  of  elder 

in  shadowy  places ; 

Thine  eyes — like  the  eyes  of  the  oxen  of  Ind ; 
Thy  breath  is  a  wafture  from  beds  of  tea-roses 

in  gardens  of  silence : 
Thou  hast  stolen  my  soul ;   thou  hast  ravished 

my  senses ; 
Lo,  I  faint  in  thine  arms,  o'ercome  by  thy 

sweetness ! 


ALONE  IN  DECEMBER  PATHS 

Along  the  slopes  of  grasses  gray 

Against  the  windy  hill 
The  slender  beeches  gently  sway 

Leafless,  above  the  mill ; 
And  silent  up  the  dreary  shores 

Denuded  now,  I  trace 
The  white  masts  of  the  sycamores 

At  anchor  by  the  race. 

Above  the  windy  thicket  high 

Circle  the  cawing  crows, 
And  round  the  barren  foot-path  sigh 

The  briers  of  the  rose : 

19 


O  leaden  clouds  that  frown  above 
Soon  would  you  disappear 

If  but  the  maiden  of  my  love 
Were  strolling  with  me  here. 

Oh,  tell  her  that  I  only  seek 

Herself  in  earth  and  skies — 
The  lilied  garden  of  her  cheek, 

The  April  of  her  eyes : 
Far  o'er  the  windy  thicket  high 

Circle  the  cawing  crows, 
And  round  the  barren  foot-path  sigh 

The  briers  of  the  rose. 


20 


HE  FOLLOWS  HER  LIGHT 

Howl  on,  ye  winter  midnight  wind ! 

Stab,  javelins  of  the  sleet! 
But  I  have  set  my  constant  mind 

To  nestle  at  her  feet. 

Oh,  while  the  waves  in  furious  glee 

Wreck  the  unbeaconed  bark, 
Though  blinded,  love  would  make  me  see 

Her  candle  through  the  dark! 

Eager,  I  dare  the  blizzard's  might: 

Joyous,  I  face  the  snow, 
For  on  her  breast  I  rest  to-night — • 

Then  let  the  tempest  blow! 

21 


"CRUSH  THY  HANDFUL  OF  ROSES" 

Crush  thy  handful  of  roses  against  my  pale 
lips,  paled  with  song  and  with  care ; 

And  smother  mine  eyes  with  their  odorous 
petals 

Lest  I,  looking  up,  behold  all  thy  beauty, 
O  fairest  of  fair ! 

Withdraw  to  the  heart  of  thy  cloud,  and  curtain 
thy  loveliness  off  from  my  sight 

Lest  I,  being  mortal,  and  seeing  too  near 
me  thy  beauty, 

Should  die  of  deep  yearning  and  hopeless 
delight. 

22 


« CANST  THOU  FOR  THIS  ATONE" 
r 

My  life  was  in  its  Autumn,  as  I  lay 
Dreaming  upon  an  upland  o'er  the  sea. 
Lonely  I  was  as  Lydian  Niobe 

When  all  her  pearls  Apollo  took  away. 

Then  came  a  beauteous  woman  fair  as  day, 
Who  gave  herself  and  all  her  love  to  me ; 
Anon  sweet  children  clambered  round  my  knee 

Eager  for  kisses, — and  the  time  seemed  May. 

These  children's  children  came,  and  1  was  grown 
Aged  and  worn,  but  still  on  them  I  smiled 
For  love  of  them  and  of  the  mother  mild. 

Sudden  I  woke — childless,  forlorn,  alone  .  .  . 

23 


O  Poesy !  canst  thou  for  this  atone  ? — 
Thou  who  hast  reft  me  thus  of  wife  and  child  ? 


24 


«  O  LEAVE  THY  FLAMING  HARP 
INVIOLATE" 

O  leave  thy  flaming  harp  inviolate  on  the 

height ; 
Undo  thy  sandals  made  of  music  and  of 

song; 
Lo  I,  thy  lover,  in  the  vale  have  waited 

long, 
Descend  and  star  the  darkness,  my  Delight! 

Thy  breath  is  sweet  as  blossoming  grape-vine 

in  the  dell, 
Or  as  fragrance  borne  from  locust-trees 

abloom ; 

25 


Breathe  on  me,  radiant  Spirit,  and  aureole 

the  gloom, 
Touch  the  lyre  of  my  heart — the  prose  of 

life  dispel. 

Teach  me  to  use  the  plectrum  that  loves  thy 

fingers  lithe; 
My  time  is  brief, — around  me  hover  Shades 

and  shadowy  Things ; 
I  hear  the  hoofs  of  pallor, — the  wind  and 

whirl  of  wings, — 
The  roaring  in  the  darkness  of  the  fateful 

scythe. 


26 


HIS  LADY  ELUDES  HIS  PURSUIT 

When  the  Horses  of  the  Morning  with  their 
rose-colored  wings  lifted  high, 

Come  with  lyre-like  music  far-echoing  down  the 
flushed  pearly  lanes, 

Beating  with  eager  hoofs  new  splendor  from  the 
waste  of  crimson  sky, 

Dazzling  the  charioteer  with  flare  of  backward- 
flowing  manes; 

When  the  Winds  from  twilight  caverns  of  the 
Dawn  arise, 

Stretching  their  languorous  arms,  loosening  the 
fillets  of  their  fragrant  hair, 
27 


Drowsed  with  the  thought  of  night  in  troublous 

deeps  of  dream-lit  eyes, 
Awake  to  wander  forth  on  viewless  pinions  from 

their  lair; 
Then  my  Lady  of  Light,  my  Love,  whom  from 

days  of  old 
I  peered  on  with  passionate  yearning  and  lips 

parched  as  with  fire, 
Withdrew  from  my  vision  her  lilies  of  beauty — 

her  hair  of  pale  gold, 
And  plunged  me  in  midnight  of  day,  consumed 

of  desire. 


28 


"SPEAK  SOFTLY,  BELOVED" 

Speak  softly,  Beloved,  I   am  hungered  for  hearing 

thy  voice  which  is  rilled  with  dark  meaning. 
I  will  gather  the  pearls  falling  down  from  thy 

lips; 
I  will  string  them  together  upon  threads  of  gold 

and  hang  them  over  my  neck ; 
And  when  sorrow  and  silence  appear  and  thou 

art  away, 

I  will  tell  all  the  beads  like  a  nun ; 
I  will  murmur  thy  jewel-like  words  till  they 

solace  my  soul : 
So,  Beloved,  speak  only  dark  and  beautiful 

words. 

29 


HE  RETURNS  AFTER  ABSENCE 

As  the  humming-bird  comes  to  the  flame  of 

the  crimson  canna ; 
As  the  bees  to  the  press,  when  the  juice  of 

the  grape  drips  purple; 
So  do  I,  my  Beloved,  return  after  tedious 

absence 
To  thy  lips  that  are  heavy  with  honey  and 

passionate  fragrance. 


30 


THE  TRYST  WITH  HIS  LOVE 

When  the  wings  of  the  twilight-legion 

And  the  ghosts  of  the  sunset  pale, 
I  float  in  the  nebulous  region 

Of  a  spirit-haunted  vale : 
By  the  marge  of  the  mystical  river 

I  make  of  my  love  a  lyre, 
For  she  is  a  reed  a-quiver, 

And  I  am  the  wind,  her  desire. 


31 


"WHAT  SHALL  ATONE" 

What  shall  atone  for  studious  days 
Spent  at  the  Muse's  cruel  side  ? 
What  recompense  wilt  thou  provide 
For  labor  sore  in  making  lays — 
One  of  thy  wreathed  bays, 
Calliope  ? 

Think  of  the  long  nights  spent  with  thee, 
When  other  men  were  glad  with  wine, 

With  woman's  love  they  deemed  divine, 

While  I  was  lone  as  islands  be 
Within  a  sailless  sea, 
Calliope ! 

32 


* 

t 


Would  any  wreath  thou  couldst  bestow- 
Albeit  all  wreaths  of  thine  are  vain — 

Repay  for  half  this  life-long  pain? 

Thy  laurels  for  some  happier  brow; 
I  need  not  laurels  now, 
Calliope. 

Still  wear  to  me  thine  ancient  frown ; 

Be  heartless,  as  thou  wast  of  old, 
And  yield  me  neither  rest  nor  gold ; 
I  scorn  thy  proffer  of  renown, 

For  Death,  too,  brings  a  crown, 
Calliope ! 


33 


"  SADLY  SHE  SITS  UPON  HER 
DAZZLING  THRONE" 

Not  the  close  friendship  of  the  closest  friends, 

Nor  wealth  descending  on  her  golden  wings ; 

Titles  nor  honor, — no  ephemeral  things, — 
Can,  for  the  lack  of  her,  e'er  make  amends. 
She  will  not  stoop  to  sublunary  ends 

Nor  touch  the  baubles  which  the  base  world 
brings ; 

Her  song  unpurchasable  still  she  sings, 
And  all  her  soul  upon  the  singing  spends. 
She  treads  her  constellated  paths  alone 

Sandaled  with  starry  aspirations  bright, 
34 


Beyond  the  visions  of  this  world — how  far  I 
Sadly  she  sits  upon  her  dazzling  throne 
In  fading  splendor  like  a  lingering  star 

That  pales  at  sunrise  in  the  wastes  of  light! 


35 


"COME,  LET  US  LIE  ON  THE 
HILLS" 

Come,  O  my  love,  let  us  lie  on  the  hills  as 
the  clouds  of  the  evening  are  crumbling 
to  amethyst  dust. 

Now  the  pinions  of  twilight  are  over  the  vale 
and  the  woodlands  grow  dim  in  the  dell. 

Lo,  thy  hair, — let  it  fall  o'er  thy  lily-white 
arm  like  the  strings  of  a  lyre, 

And  a  wind  from  the  meadows  of  Eros  shall 
sigh  through  the  chords, 

And  at  last  thou  wilt  yield, — thou  wilt  com- 
fort thy  lover  with  love ; 
36 


Thou  wilt  know  that  the  wind  is  his  soul 

that  is  longing  and  wasting  away  for 

thy  sweetness  adored ; 
Oh,  at  last — at  the  last — thou  wilt  yield! 
Come !   let  us  lie  on  the  hills  side  by  side 

as  the  embers  of  evening  are  crumbling 

to  ashes  away. 


HE  TELLS  WHEN  HER  SPIRIT 
IS  FAIREST 

Thy  spirit  suits  not  with  the  garish  hour; 

Too  delicate  thy  cloistral  bloom ; 
Thou,  like  some  austral  orchid  flower, 

Unfold'st  thy  beauty  but  in  gloom : 

Fair  in  the  morn, — but  lovelier  far,  Sweetheart, 
In  thy  dim  chamber's  hushed  lamp-light : 

O  Love !   the  hyacinth  itself  thou  art — 
Most  fragrant  at  the  dead  of  night. 


38 


LO,  THOU  SITTEST  ENTHRONED" 

Lo,  thou  sittest  enthroned  on  thy  rolling 

cloud, 
As  aloft  are  lifted  in  scorn  thine  inscrutable 

eyes; 
Not  deigning  to  look  on  thy  lover,  low 

bowed, 
As  in  silence  enforced,  all  despairing  he 

lies. 
O  look  down  from  thy  white  rolling  throne 

in  the  skies  ; 
Lift,  O  Spirit,  thy  lover  aloft  to  the  cloud 

round  thee  curled ; 
39 


With  thy  harp  teach  his  soul  how  to  solace 

the  sighs, 
And  to  drop  Song  in  showers  all  over  the 

world. 


"ANGEL  OF  PEACE!" 

Drowsy  thou  liest  on  thy  poppied  bed 
Inamorata  of  the  realms  of  air! 
Goddess  or  queen  or  spirit,  passing  fair, 
Rise  from  thy  slumberous  pillow  where 
is  spread 

In  lustrous  darkness  round  thy  starry  head 
The  wondrous  wealth  of  thine  ethereal  hair- 
Still  whisper  to  me  from  thy  dusky  lair 
Or  Atropos  shall  cut  the  silver  thread ! 

Clear  source  and  fountain  of  my  fleeting  lays, 
Angel  of  peace,  and  saint  that  comforteth, 
Thy  lips  were  on  my  mouth — I  drew  thy 
breath — 

41 


Thine  arms  enwrapt  me  through  thy  shadowy 

ways, — 

O  thou  divine  consoler  of  my  days 
Be  near  me  in  the  darkness  after  death ! 


'THE  MILLION  LILIES  OF  GOLD" 

The  million  lilies  of  gold  that  bloom  in  the  blue 

I  will  gather  and  place  at  your  beautiful  feet; 
And  the  delicate  shallop  that  sails  in  the  after- 
glow- 
Silver  and  slender  and  sweet — 
Shall  anchor  in  daffodil  pools  to  be  nearer  to  you ; 
While  her  sister,  the  lamp  of  the  gloaming,  swaying 
low 

In  vaults  of  the  orange  sky 
Shall  pause  a-pant  with  delight; 
And  when  you  are  nigh 

In  the  night, 
The  censers  unseen 

43 


That  carry  the  breath  of  the  perfumed  air 
Swaying  in  moonlit  spaces  afar, 
Shall  wave  an  impalpable  wing 
With  odor  of  roses  around  you  their  Queen ; 
And  about  you  forever  the  darkest  thing 

Shall  still  be  a  star; 

And  the  Genii  shall  take  the  cloud  of  your  dim 
sweet  hair 

As  a  mist  afloat  in  the  morn, 
And  cast  it  over  the  helpless  hearts  of  men — 

Over  serf,  over  king, 
And  the  bridegroom  shall  turn  from  the  bride 

nor  think  she  is  fair — 
Shall  desert  her  and  desire  you  again; 
And  I,  who  loved  you  before  I  was  born, 
Shall  love  you  forever  and  die  of  despair. 


44 


A  LAST  WORD  TO  THE  LADY 
OF  HIS  LOVE 

When  this  passionate  heart  is  placed  at  last 

upon  Love's  own  pyre, 
And  the  wraith  of  it,  incense-like,  ascends 

to  the  twilight  sky, 
Take  the  words  I  whispered  once  on  a  time, 

O  soul  of  my  soul's  desire, 
And  croon  them  low  on  the  violet  banks 

where  we  were  wont  to  lie. 


AT  THY  DEAR  FEET 

As  some  stray  carrier-pigeon  onward  hies 
O'er  alien  spire  and  dim  cathedral  dome, 
With  weakening  pinions  that  reluctant  roam 

Athwart  the  blank,  inhospitable  skies ; 

Famished  and  faint,  with  eager,  yearning  eyes, 
Whirled  by  the  wind  above  the  mad  sea  foam, 
Till,  at  the  last,  outworn,  he  gains  his  home, 

Falls  at  his  mistress*  feet,  content,  and  dies: 

So  unto  thee,  sweet  Spirit  of  all  Song, 

Weak  and  full  weary  with  world-wanderings, 
We  wing  the  trackless  deserts  of  our  sky; 

Truant  to  thee,  O  Poesy,  too  long, 

46 


We  reach  thy  feet  at  last  with  bleeding  wings, 
And  fain  would  nestle  near  thy  heart  to  die  1 


« AND  WHEN  AT  LAST  THE 
PORTALS  LOOM" 

O  Spirit  of  the  lustrous  Nine, 
Who  art  the  fountain  of  my  lays, 
The  source  of  all  the  rapturous  days 

That  radiant  come  to  me, 
Through  all  this  minstrel  life  of  mine 
Desert  me  not,  O  thou  divine 

Mnemosyne ! 

Mnemosyne! 

And  when  at  last  the  portals  loom, 
When  I  shall  drink  Death's  drowsy  wine 

48 


And  long-loved  valleys  must  resign — 

Blue  peak,  and  sky,  and  sea — 
When  darkly  sinks  the  pall  of  doom 
Oh,  be  thou  with  me  through  the  gloom 

Mnemosyne! 

Mnemosyne! 


HER  LOVER  DEFIES  THE  RAVEN- 
BLACK  STEEDS 

Too  happy  were  we,  O  my  Delight! 

For  I  saw  the  raven-black  Horses  afar 
Ramp  on  the  edge  of  a  cloud  to-night 
And  I  feared  they  were  winging  to  us  with 

a  curse, 

For  the  chariot  they  drew 
Had  a  place  for  two ; 
It  was  sable-plumed  like  a  hearse, 
And  stopped  by  a  cloud-like  grave : 
Too  happy  were  we,  O  my  Delight  .  .  . 
Look  in  mine  eyes, — need  we  fear  alarms  ?  .  . 
50 


A  long  wild  kiss  like  the  first  you  gave  I  ... 
There !    .  .  let  them  come — 
The  Horses  of  Night, 
Let  them  take  us  locked  in  each  other's  arms ! 


"BESEECH  ME  NO  MORE" 

Beseech  me  no  more,  it  is  in  vain, 
O  daughters  of  that  which  passeth  away, 

Whose  lips  with  long  kisses  enchain, 
Whose  blood  is  as  quick  as  the  sap  in  May, 

Beseech  me  no  more,  for  there  grows 
In  the  dells  of  my  heart,  hidden  deep, 

My  Lady  of  Peace,  my  Delight,  my  Rose, 
Whose  look  is  as  lilies  divine 
And  whose  eyes  are  as  day. 
Do  you  not  see  her  dim  as  a  cloud  on  the  steep 

Beckoning  still  as  she  goes  ? 
Ah,  daughters  of  that  which  passeth  away, 
52 


I  am  drawn  fr<5  the  side 
Of  my  beautiful  bride 

Who  will  hold  the  cup  as  I  drink  her  wine ; 
And  when  I  have  waded  the  River  of  Sleep 

That  slips  through  the  Valley  of  Dreams 
Where  nothing  is  and  where  everything  seems, 
And  all  is  divine, 
She  will  hold  me  fast 
As  I  lie  by  her  side, 
She  will  fold  me  at  last — at  last, 
And  I  shall  be  hers,  and  she  will  be  mine. 


53 


"IMPERIAL  INVENTRESS" 

O  guardian  of  the  sought-for  sacred  fire ; 

Mother  of  splendors  springing  from  the  mind  ; 
Imperial  Inventress,  let  me  find 

Melodious  solace  great  as  my  desire ! 

Grant  me  to  waken  thine  impassioned  lyre 
To  most  mellifluous  music,  and  unbind 
The  bands  of  silence ;  oh,  once  more  be  kind 

E'en  unto  me,  the  least  among  thy  choir! 

O  Breath  of  Godhead,  voicing  mysteries 
That  mortal  men,  unheeding,  seldom  hear, 
Fain  would  my  spirit  bend  a  reverent  ear 

To  feast  upon  thy  heavenly  harmonies ! 

54 


Come  through  the  sunset  gates,  or  on  the  breeze 
Memnonian,  murmur  to  me,  spirit  clear; 
Breathe  solace  and  dispel  this  life-long  tear 

By  mystic  music  sweeter  than  the  sea's ! 

Give  to  this  essence  flaming  seraph  wings, 
Or  burn  it,  incense-like,  to  thee  and  thine, 
Upon  thy  altar  with  its  purging  fire ; 

Strike  thou  at  last  from  out  these  trembling  strings 
Apocalypses  of  the  inner  shrine — 
O  Breath  of  God !    make  of  my  soul  thy  lyre ! 


55 


«I  FEEL  THY  SPIRIT  CALL  ME" 

I  feel  thy  Spirit  call  me  from  afar; 

And  if  in  silence  now  these  steps  I  wend, 
This  forced  aphonia  shall  not  last  for  long ; 

Not  here,  indeed,  but  in  some  fairer  star, 
Fed  from  immortal  rills,  I  hope  to  end 
A  life  ineloquent,  with  affluent  Song. 


56 


"COME  NEARER,  MY  BELOVED" 

Come  nearer,  my  Beloved,  it  is  night; 
Bend  down  above  my  bed  thy  features  mild; 
No  wife  have  I  to  love,  nor  tender  child — 
Thou  wert  mine  angel, — wilt  thou  take  thy 

flight— 

Thou !   with  thine  eyes  of  pity  infinite, 
And  leave  me  dying  and  unreconciled? 
It  was  the  sweetness  of  thy  lips  beguiled 
Life  of  its  pang  and  made  the  darkness  bright 
Oh,  lean  down  nearer — nearer — do  not  fly — 
Have  we  not  loved  each  other  well  and  long? 
Leave  me  not  now,  my  heart — my  soul — my 

song— 

57 


Beloved  Spirit !    Oh  to  thee  I  cry, — 
Wrap  thy  dear  arms  around  me — hold  me 

strong — 
Oh,  wake  me  with  thy  kisses  when  I  die ! 


. 


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